SFV/CWC JANUARY 2012

President’s Message 2

Whimsicals Cont’d 2

Bill Belew’s Talk 3

Central Coast Con. 3

Norm Molesko 3

Market To Market 4

Critique Facilitator 4

Erica Stux Published 4

Review & Refresh 5

Anne's Digs 6&7

Pegasus Poem 7

The Kinship 8,9,10

Liquid Refreshment 11

Miracle & Inspir. 11

Guest Writer 12

What Goes Around 13

Map & Info 14

M ary Rose Betten, an experienced

and acclaimed actress/essayist/

comedienne/author, is coming to the

Katzenberg room to demonstrate basic

presentation techniques for new authors.

Presentation techniques? Perhaps you

are thinking: Shouldn't an editor or an adult

reader of my work be able to imagine a scene and

hear my characters' dialog in his or her mind? I

don’t claim to be a showman. I'm a writer. Presentation

techniques are for a drama class.

Indeed, writers often expect that their words

will speak for themselves, but perhaps that's wish-

ful thinking. Betten strongly believes that peo-

ple need to hear – out loud -- the emotion, the

authentic voice, the right emphasis on the right

words, to appreciate an author's descriptive pas-

sages and the characters’ dialog.

If you, an author, invest time and effort into

your writing, why not put an additional bit of ef-

fort into selling your work?

To this end, Betten will

demonstrate how to give

your well-chosen words that

extra dimension which

might influence and impress

listeners. Her own presenta-

tion will entertain as well as

instruct our members.

Mary Rose Betten visited

the Katzenberg Room a few

years ago and certainly practiced

what she preached. We were charmed, amused

and definitely entertained. Her return is antici-

pated by those who enjoyed her earlier visit. For

a review of Betten’s long list of literary credits and

accomplishments, visit our SFV/CWC website:

cwc-sfv.org

If you join us on Saturday you’re invited

to bring one minute of your own material to

read out loud.

H er children meant well. And that's why

Thelma found herself staring at a brand new

computer in her home office.

She was hesitant to

try it out. It looked

so complicated.

"You can do it,

Mom. Here's E-

mail," said son Harry,

and his hands

whizzed around the keys. "Here's Attachments."

And again he morphed into Houdini and Thelma felt

like the magician's clueless assistant. After her

son went home, there sat Thelma, staring at the

glowing screen, still afraid to touch a key. She had

to find help managing this powerful machine ... but

where to look?

Sound familiar? If so, here are helpful hints

from our SFV members who’ve had to learn or re-

(Continued on page 2)

VOLUME 4 ISSUE 5

The two most engaging powers of a good author are to make new things familiar and familiar things new. -William Makepeace

Thackeray

SFV/CWC 2 JANUARY 2012

Executive Board

President ... Yolanda Fintor

Vice-pres./Membership ... Andrea Polk

Vice-pres./Programs ... Rita Keeley Brown

Treasurer ... Pirhiya Goldstein

Secretary … Anne Olivier

Board of Directors

Editor ... Kathy Highcove

Webmaster … Ray Malus

Publicity … Karen Gorback

Critique Groups Facilitator … Lillian Rodich

Member-at-Large ... Judy Presnall

On Site Coordinator ... Betty Freeman

Open Mike ... Bill Sorrells

learn computer skills to stay active on the Net:

Ester Shifren: I have used many methods, in-cluding Lynda.com that my son-in-law subscribes to. He's a MAC consultant. I've googled questions and had terrific help from that source. I've also used YouTube—there are videos covering most computer info. MAC users attend free workshops, and PCs also have workshops or online help. Writ-ers' clubs have members who have overcome some of the probs and they ‘re always helpful. Pals who

publish pass around pointers, Ester has found.

Sheila Moss: After l0 years my dear Dell sputtered

and coughed, "Slow to Respond, Windows is shutting down." Help. I needed to write, email and do some basic research. Enter my oldest son Aaron with a new Hewlett Packard PC in tow. HP created a

user friendly email system. I no longer fear that I'll lose my work. I plan to retain a teen for techie help in

the near future. Aha, the geek mobile for Shelia.

Leslie Kaplan: When my new sexy computer named Mac won't cooperate I just say, "The heck with YOU!“ On a serious note, I've had tutors who’ve helped me temporarily but a new problem inevitably pops up. Seems my brain is better at art, singing, dancing, designing, fashion, home decorating and story telling. I'm good at what I love and enjoy ... not so good with hi-tech or mechanics. Leslie emails

and keeps her Mac turned on.

To sum up: Thelma can find help

on the Net, from friends/relatives,

or her local geek. But — Persistence is the key!

(Continued from page 1)

T he New Year may traditionally be

a time of new beginnings, but it‘s

also an appropriate time to assess

events of the immediate past.

The year 2011 was an important year

for our San Fernando Valley Branch.

First and foremost, in June 2011, the

West Valley Branch merged with the

San Fernando Valley Branch. This

unification doubled our talents and in-

creased our networking opportunities.

Looking back on our 2011 speakers,

we've been enlightened on text struc-

ture, composition techniques, public

speaking and the intricacies of the so-

cial media. Our researchers learned

how to navigate our city‘s extensive

library system. We were encouraged to

access our unconscious self in the de-

velopment of visual imagery and lyrical

language and what it means to ―write

the marble.‖

In 2011 some members taught writ-

ing classes or were guest speakers at

other groups‘ gatherings. Many

members in our branch honed their

writing skills while attending classes,

workshops or conferences.

There were indi-

vidual success sto-

ries as well. Many

of our members pub-

lished fiction, non-

fiction books, mem-

oirs, book reviews

and short stories. Our playwrights‘

dramas were performed in local produc-

tions. Several members were recipients

of prestigious awards.

Our board is making plans for our

2012 gatherings.. The February meet-

ing will be a Book Bazaar. The entire

meeting will be dedicated to members

who are marketing their own books this

year. Each author will be given a short

time at the podium to describe their

work or read excerpts. This exercise

will give members an opportunity to

sharpen their marketing and promoting

skills--skills they will need at any book

signing event. If you are a yet-to-be

published writer, come and get some

pointers.

On this hopeful note of creative out-

put by our branch membership, I wish

you all a fruitful and consuming year of

writing in 2012.

SFV/CWC 3 JANUARY 2012

B ill Belew, our December speaker,

was a man on a mission. He

came to spread the gospel of blogdom

and to convert the recalcitrant SFV

writer who still resists taking the plunge into the main-

stream of social media.

"I ‘m here because I care about your good stories, and I

want your messages to get out on the Internet," Belew told us. "I

believe there are three kinds of writers. Some writers want to

write purely for their own enjoyment. Some writers want to share

their writing with readers. And some writers -- MY kind of writers

--- write to be read and paid for their writing. If you're writing for

free, how come? "

And then he outlined how writers can write their good story,

get it online and earn cash – hopefully -- for their creative efforts.

Through trial and error, Belew has developed a system

meant to transform a blogger beginner into a knowledgeable

mainstream networker. During his speech, Belew projected a

power point outline of his beginner bloggers' program. There's

not space in this newsletter to fully report on Belew's tips and

principles of blogdom, but here's the bottom line:

The most basic need is to decide what to blog about, and

then start writing. Once the topic is decided, one writes and writes

to attract Internet surfers, posting about 100 to 200 words a day,

totalling 800 to 1200 posts in a year. Therefore, quantity is a key

element of Belew's plan. Secondly, newbie bloggers must be

mindful of quality control in the daily posting. They should take

time to study blogdom by going online and googling "blogs."

Many websites will pop up on screen. Or simply type in "Bill

Belew" and you'll see several websites, tips, and workshops on

the subject of blogging proficiency.

Belew emphasized that a seri-

ous blogger should determine key

words that attract search engines

to their site. For example, if a

blogger were to write about the

prevalence of blue jean apparel

in our American society, these

words might be inserted into the

daily posts: denim, fashion, cow-

boy, comfort, and so on.

A blog site needs continual

care. Bill emphasizes consis-

tency or daily posts into a blog or blogs. If material stimulates

reader interest, the blog will attract a following, which may even-

tually attract the Big Guy search engines. Big name brands pay

to be mentioned on popular blog sites, which leads us to the final

precept of the Belew Blogger Plan: blog longevity. The follow-

ing quote from Belew's site http://billbelew.com explains the

term longevity: A magic number (for a posted blog) is six

-nine-twelve months When the search engines learn

that a blog has been active for this many months, with a

number of blogs being consistently posted, the find-

ability of the blog site increases. More people will have

found the site and a higher page rank assigned. The

higher the page rank, the easier it is for new searchers to

find the blog. The higher the page rank, the easier to get

new readers.

Bill Belew has more tips in his book: How to Get One Mil-

lion Unique Visitors to Your Website. He is a true resource for

new bloggers on how to post their message, attract a faithful fol-

lowing, and perhaps earn cash for their stories.

CENTRAL COAST WRITERS “California Gold” 2012 SPRING WRITING CONTEST $250 Award in Four Categories: Best Rhymed Poem -- Best Unrhymed Poem Best Short Story -- Best Short Non-Fiction Entry fee discount for members of California Writers Club Postmark deadline: 1/31/12 Details & Rules at: www.centralcoastwriters.org

N orm Molesko was part of a poetry session presented by the Valley Contemporary Poets at the Cobalt on December

13th. ― I was the featured poet.―

The Cobalt has Open Mic as a regular feature, by the way, so… poets of the SFV bring that poetry of yours to share sometime in the near future!

The Cobalt Cafe is at 22047 Sherman Way, Canoga Park, CA. 91303 The location is just west of Topanga Blvd. Park behind the Cobalt or on the street.

Norm Molesko

SFV/CWC 4 JANUARY 2012

Nelson Literary Agency spe-

cializes in commercial fiction

and high-caliber literary fic-

tion. Submissions: Query by e-

mail only. Select Nonfiction:

Actively seeking Latina writers

who tackle contemporary issues

in a modern voice. Seeking: Mem-

oirs. Seeking: Fiction(commercial), literary, mainstream, women’s) chick lit

(includes mysteries), romance (includes fantasy with romantic elements, sci-

fi, fantasy, young adult.) Doesn’t want: short story collections, mysteries

(except chick lit), thrillers, Christian, horror, or children’s picture book.

Contact: Kristin Nelson— pres and senior lit agent, Sara Megibow—

associate lit agent. Address: 1732 Wazee St., Suite 207, Denver CO 80202.

E-mail: query@nelsonagency.com Website: www.nelsonagency.com

Fredrica S. Friedman and Co., Inc. represents nonfiction books & novels,

and literary fiction. Doesn’t want: poetry, plays, screenplays, children’s

books, sci-fi/fantasy, or horror. Submissions: Submit e-query, synopsis, be

concise. Contact: Ms. Chandler Smith. Address: 136 E. 57th St., 14th Floor,

NY, NY 10022. Fax: (212)829-9669. E-mail:

info@fredricafriedman.com, submissions@fredricafriedman.com

Website: www.fredricafriedman.com/agency.htm As a note, they ask

that when submitting, please spell the agent’s name correctly on your query

letter.

Opium Magazine is a biannual fiction magazine. It contains a mix of stories,

poetry, reviews, cartoons, interviews and much more. Guidelines available at

website or by e-mail. Contact: Todd Zuniga, editor. Send complete ms with

cover letter by e-mail only. NO SNAIL MAIL accepted. E-mail: opium-

forthearts@gmail.com Website: www.opiummagazine.com

World War II is a bimonthly magazine covering military operations in

World War II – events, strategy, the home front, etc. Guidelines available on

website or for SASE. Queries accepted by mail, e-mail. Address: Weider

History Group, 19300 Promenade Dr., Leesburg VA 20176. E-mail: world-

war2@weiderhistorygroup.com Website: www.historynet.com

JOB DESCRIPTION

1. Assist CWC members in finding a

critique group suiting their needs.

2. Help members form a new group when

needed.

3. Inform group members about basic

protocol in running meetings.

4. Establish a basic atmosphere of trust

and respect.

5. Gain access to valuable critiquing.

PERKS

1. This is a truly a rewarding job. You

get to know fellow writers better and

make new and interesting friends.

2. Not too much time is involved. Present

facilitator will be available

to help if needed..

TRY IT, YOU’LL LIKE IT.

Contact

Lil Rodich lrodich@yahoo.com

The December issue of

the children's magazine

Nature Friend contains

two articles of mine. And I recently

got a notice that Spider Magazine

accepted a poem, but it might not ap-

pear for two or three years.

— Erica Stux

Something To Ponder

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt. — William Shakespeare

SFV/CWC 5 JANUARY 2012

The Comma – Part Two

To review ... Last month in Part One I warned not to use a comma just be-

cause you feel that a comma “belongs there” or because you detect some

kind of a “hesitation” in that part of the sentence. Go by the rules. And

whenever you're in doubt and can't remember the rule, leave the comma

out. You'll be right more times than you're wrong.

Introductory Expressions

Use a comma after introductory expressions like yes, no, oh, and well.

Yes, Jim is applying for a scholarship.

Well, he probably won't get it since he’s got just an average GPA.

Oh, you didn’t know his grandmother is a long-time trustee?

Confusing Sentence Parts

Use a comma to separate sentence parts for clarity.

Whenever possible, our Congress seems to put off decisions.

Modifiers

Use a comma to separate two or more adjectives modifying the same noun.

Marci got a new, challenging project: aide to Senator Mallory.

Repeated Words

Use a comma to separate repeated words.

Whomever she loved, loved her back.

Dates

Use commas before and after the year when the year is used in combina-

tion with the month and the day.

The club moved on October 1, 2008, and increased membership.

But don't use commas when just the month and year are given.

The last time he was arrested for DUI was sometime in May 2007.

Addresses

Use a comma between the city and the state, but don't use commas after

the parts of the address and never between the state and the zip code.

Andy Griffith

29 Maple Avenue

Mayberry, SC 56034

— Dave Wetterberg

Yesterday,

everybody

smoked his

last cigar, took

his last drink

and swore his

last oath. To-

day, we are a

pious and

exemplary

community.

Thirty days

from now, we

shall have cast

our reforma-

tion to the

winds and

gone to cutting

our ancient

shortcomings

considerably

shorter than

ever.

~Mark Twain

SFV/CWC 6 JANUARY 2012

M idlife crisis. It‘s a phrase you see in maga-

zine articles, and it‘s a feeling that, looking

back on life, you know that something has

been left undone. I had realized for some time now

that my life had felt a bit stagnant.

Don‘t get me wrong. I have a

good life and much to be grateful

for, including a terrific husband

and two grown children, plus a

steady job working for a library

that I love. Still, every day has

begun to feel like a dull repeat of

the day before -- a long com-

mute, a full day of work, and by

Saturday just wanting some extra

sleep. Life had taken on a sort of

dull glaze.

I‘ve certainly pursued my

hobbies. I‘ve dabbled in jewelry

making and taken many stabs at

writing a novel, and as an adult

I‘ve learned to swim and I got in

shape to run a few 5K races. Ar-

chaeology, however, was a child-

hood dream that I‘d allowed to

just sit. I had taken an introduc-

tory archaeology class years ago

when we lived in Orange County

and volunteered a little at a cura-

tion lab in the archaeology department of a local uni-

versity. I‘d hoped to be able to go back to school for

a second graduate degree in archaeology but it was

not in the cards. So, for years I let the archaeology

bug lay dormant.

Lately, every time something archaeology-related

would come on Discovery Channel or History Chan-

nel, I would start my little rant… ‖See, Those people

are doing it! They‘re doing it, why aren‘t I doing it!‖

My daughter would yell, ―Mom! So just do it already!‖

At some point a few years ago, I had learned of a

volunteer program of the US Forest Service called

Passport in Time. I decided it was time to revisit the

idea. I saw one upcoming project in Arizona that in-

trigued me. It was surveying and doing surface de-

tection at the site of an old mining town. When I de-

scribed the project to my husband, his response was

―So, are you going to apply?‖ I was not prepared for

that level of support. Now I had no excuses! ―What?‖

I responded. ―I can‘t just go off

for a week on my own and use up

my vacation time!‖ It would be so

unpractical. And yet … part of

me really wanted to go. It was

like having two voices in my head

arguing…pursuit of dreams vs.

practicality.

In the end, my dream-

pursuing half won out. I signed

up and waited to hear if I was in.

A couple of weeks later, I got a

call from the Forest Service. I

was indeed on the team! In the

following weeks, my excitement

morphed into intense nervous-

ness. How would I really cope

with driving ten hours to Arizona

by myself and volunteering to do

something at which I was a com-

plete newbie!

After one mishap on an Ari-

zona highway in which the under-

side of my car encountered a

blown out tire fragment, the rest

of my trip was uneventful. I made it into town,

checked into my motel, and the next day reported for

duty at the ranger station in the Tonto National For-

est. My fears were immediately relieved when I met

the rest of the crew – all retirees and multiple Pass-

port in Time volunteers, and Steve, the archaeologist.

To my relief, I blended in perfectly with my jeans,

backpack and metal detector. Each day we met up at

(Continued on page 7)

SFV/CWC 7 JANUARY 2012

Pegasus

I’m far too lazy for therapy today.

For clutching the reins of my imagination

to hold its head pointing to the ground

and break its spirit.

No.

Instead, I think I’ll let the steed run free.

And jump up on its back.

And let it try to buck me off,

as it capers to the moon,

or the sun,

or the city dump,

or wherever the scents of clover and sage

and cool water lure it.

Or maybe I’ll loll in the shade of the porch

and watch it cavort and leap

until it vaults the rail of the corral

and, joyful, speeds to places I can’t go.

Tonight, it will come home

and whisper what it’s seen.

— Ray Malus

Pegasus was recently published by an ezine

called Bright Light Café, along with two other pieces

by SFV member Ray Malus. Read Ray’s submissions at this Austra-

lian site: http://brightlightmultimedia.com/blcafe/

ShowcasedTalent-Writing-L-Z.htm

By happy coincidence, I have a flash fiction

story in the same ezine. Here’s my place on

this website: http://

brightlightmultimedia.com/blcafe/ShrtStories-

AgedButMellow.htm

a rendezvous point and got to the actual site –

the ghost town of McMillenville – by hiking

across a highway, under a fence and over

rocks with our metal detectors and backpacks

in tow. Our mission was to find evidence of

an Apache Indian raid that occurred in the

early 1880s. Of particular interest were bul-

lets and bullet casings, as well as any evi-

dence of the daily life of the town. We used

metal detectors to pinpoint metal objects close

to the surface, such as bullet casings, cans

and hand forged nails. We quickly learned

how to tell the difference between modern and

period nails and cans. Modern nails are round

while the 19th century nails were squared, indi-

cating that they were hand forged. My very

first day, I found the neck of a bottle. Later I

found a portion of a heavy chain, very likely

from a wagon chain. And on the very last day

of detecting, I found a prized bullet casing!

Each day‘s routine involved rising at 6 am to

ensure that I had a proper serving of morning

coffee, to meet up with the gang at about

8:00. A full morning of either metal detecting

or artifact recording followed with just a brown

bag lunch break. The day‘s work ended

around 4 or a bit later, and we all got into the

routine of meeting up for dinner.

By the time I got back to my room each

night, I was tired and my muscles ached, but I

was happy as I could be. On the drive home I

took myself to breakfast at my favorite restau-

rant, the Cracker Barrel. I stopped at a rock

shop in Quartzite where I chatted with a

charming older gentleman who was so

pleased with my rock and mineral purchases

that he gave me a tigers eye necklace and a

hug! I learned the fine art of metal detecting,

how artifacts were recorded and plotted on the

map, and how to enjoy the fine art of being

alone and loving it!

(Continued from page 6)

SFV/CWC 8 JANUARY 2012

The Kinship

By Max Schwartz

I n 1990 my wife Clara and I at-

tended an international engineer-

ing conference in Israel. I thought it

was purely a professional excursion. I

never dreamed it was the beginning of

a much unexpected personal quest.

It began on a guided tour through the Old City of Jerusalem.

―Overhead you will see a good example of Herodian workman-

ship. ‖ Our guide pointed out the underground vault adjacent to

the Temple Mount. The group moved on, but I motioned Clara to

pause a moment.

―This is amazing,‖ I said. ―A four-part groin vault. It‘s a very

complex structure. Look – the spring line and haunch had to be

measured without error. See how the four arches meet in the

crown? The keystones had to be positioned exactly."

―This was made more than two thousand years ago,‖ Clara

said. ―How did they do it?‖

―I don‘t know,‖ I answered. ―These vaults and the remains of

the Temple Mount are marvels of engineering. Even with modern

computers and technology, it would take real expertise to carve

and fit these massive stones!‖

We hurried to catch up with the group. But my imagination

had been captivated. Who were these ancient workmen? How did

they do what they did?

What motivated them?

The rest of the con-

ference sped by. But even

after we returned to the

United States, I couldn‘t

shake my fascination with

the Temple Mount and

vaults and the men who built them. On building projects and

work sites around Los Angeles, I continued to imagine myself in

those ancient engineer‘s shoes, trying to approximate the calcula-

tions of that vault.

This became an odd obsession and I decided that the only

way to get it off my mind was to go back to Jerusalem and do

some research.

Clara eagerly agreed to accompany me, especially when I

suggested we skip the prepackaged tours and rent our own apart-

ment near the Old City. But Clara was skeptical about my mo-

tives. ―Nothing but professional curiosity?‖ she asked. ―Your inter-

est is only in the history of architecture —- not the history of your

people?‖

No, this was

purely professional

curiosity, I assured

myself.

I‘d been fasci-

nated by the history

of architecture and

engineering ever

since my teens, when I attended Polytechnic High School in Los

Angeles. There I met my mentor, Master Architect Claude Augus-

tus Faithfull. He fostered in me a love for the history of his art and

a respect for its pioneers. Babylonian, Persian, Roman, and Byz-

antine — even the exotic names were intoxicating. But as for

Clara‘s suggestion that I was drawn to Jerusalem out of some

yearning to more about ―my‖ people, that was simply not so.

As I grew up in Los Angeles in the 30s and 40s, it seemed

to my young mind that many of the people I knew had come from

other lands. They spoke with pride of the Old Country, whether

they had been born there or simply heard stories at family gather-

ings and holidays. I didn‘t have that. My parents had barely es-

caped from Russia with their lives in the turbulent 20s. I was born

in America and my father died when I was seven. When my

mother spoke of their little village in the Ukraine, she never told

sentimental stories. Instead she spoke of revolution, hunger and

(Continued on page 9)

SFV/CWC 9 JANUARY 2012

pogroms against the Jews. When my mother talked about her old

life it was with anger – or tears.

―Clara,‖ I said gently, ―you know the Ukrainian village our

families came from was completely destroyed during the war. Any

relatives left in Eastern Europe were lost in the Holocaust. Now

that my mother‘s dead, the only ‗people‘ that I have left are you

and our children.‖

Clara didn‘t an-

swer, but I knew she

saw things differently. In

many ways she herself

was the only link with

the past. Shortly after

WWII, my mother saw a familiar face while riding the trolley – Eva

Farkas, a childhood friend from Russia. Eva had a daughter, and

soon I was on the trolley myself, heading for the Farkas home.

Their daughter was slender and smiling with a full head of reddish

-brown curls. Two and a half years later we were married.

Clara took her faith seriously. She made sure we attended

temple and celebrated holy days, and she kept a kosher kitchen. I

supported her so that our children would acquire the sense of

heritage I lacked.

Somehow over the years, faith had become an empty for-

mality for me. I transferred my historical interest from family ties

to architecture. Even as a boy, when my mother spoke to me in

Yiddish I answered in English. This was America, not Russia, and

a world of opportunity lay ahead!

Those opportunities were interrupted by World War II. Con-

struction in the United States ground to a halt as architects and

engineers joined the war effort. My high school training got me a

job as a surveyor on the Pan American Highway from the U.S.-

Mexican border to the Panama Canal. After a year, I joined the

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.

The army engineers always prepared for the possibility

they‘ll have to build where modern tools and equipment aren‘t

available, so our 20th Century training was in ancient techniques.

Some of my buddies grumbled, but I loved it! We learned to sur-

vey by using the Southern Cross (the north star isn‘t visible from

many places in Central America), and we were taught to build

roads and bridges using manpower and rigging of wood poles,

ropes and pulleys. I felt a kinship with engineers from centuries

before.

As the war ended and the Axis armies retreated across

Europe, they literally burned their bridges behind them. I was part

of the military engineers who followed, rebuilding the roads and

bridges that had been destroyed. Our job was not unlike that of

the ancient Roman Army. They also had a band of engineers with

them to rebuild and repair roads and fortifications newly won. I

liked to imagine those ancient experts beside us as we studied

the bridges, many of them centuries old, to design modern re-

placements that would fit with the old.

It was no wonder, then, that the builders of the Temple in

Jerusalem had stimulated my professional curiosity. Clara and I

bought our tickets and began to pack.

The Old City was a cacophony of sights sounds and smells

that stimulated memories of our earlier trip. I was eager to return

to the architectural sites, but my research had to begin with writ-

ten records. There were many scholarly texts and research pa-

pers to study.

In addition, I found I

had to go back to the most

valuable text, the Scriptures.

I was amazed by all the infor-

mation about engineering

and architecture in them –

from the exact size of Noah‘s

ark to the plans for the First

Temple!

As I read and studied background material on the Temple

itself, I made some surprising discoveries. For one thing, I found

there were often great similarities in the temples of ancient socie-

ties. When one nation conquered another, it attempted to impose

(Continued from page 8)

SFV/CWC 10 JANUARY 2012

its gods on the defeated nation. Most nations worshiped numer-

ous gods, associating them with various elements of creation —

the sky, the earth or the crops.

Israel, with its devotion to one true God, was a notable ex-

ception. What did God look like? Not a bull or a fish, as other re-

ligions suggested. Yahweh was not a king god or a sea god, but a

God of all being. He made humans in His image, but they

were not to make images of Him (Exodus 20:4, 5).

The God of Israelites simply could not be cooped up in

a building. As the Israelites wandered in the desert, their

God was with them. Wherever they set up the tabernacle

tent, that became God‘s holy place.

When the Jews finally settled in the land God

promised them, they wanted a single temple, centri-

cally located, where all Israel could worship together.

King David found the site, Jerusalem. His son,

Solomon, reigning over the economic and military

glory years of Israel, built the beautiful Temple on

Mount Moriah, where tradition held that Abra-

ham nearly sacrificed Isaac. Solomon‘s Tem-

ple was built in seven years (967 to 960 B.C.)

and stood for nearly four centuries until the

Babylonian king Nebuchadnezzar destroyed it

in 587 B.C.

Centuries later, King Herod (37 B.C. to 4 A.D.), hated by the

Jews for buddying up to the conquering Romans, tried to prove

his devotion to his people by rebuilding the Temple. This Temple

was much larger and more ornate than Solomon‘s. The faithful

came here not only to worship and sacrifice, but also to discuss

the Scriptures with learned teachers and rabbis.

As I now paced the stones of the Temple Mount, I felt be-

side me the presence of engineers who had brought the lime-

stone blocks from a nearby quarry, hauled on rollers and hoisted

by giant wooden cranes. As we walked together, I developed a

great kinship with these Master Builders. I knew they were not

using their skills for the glory of Herod, but for the glory of God.

Their study and devotion was the measure of their faith. Though

most of the blocks measured 3 feet by 16 feet, some blocks were

35 feet long. One of Hebrews remarked on the awesome beauty

of the Temple, ―Look, Rabbi! What massive stones! What magnifi-

cent buildings!‖

As I touched those stones, I realized that for a place of wor-

ship to have a pull that lasted for centuries – from the time of King

David to this very day – the God it was

designed to worship was different.

The prayers below me at the West-

ern Wall mingled Hebrew, English,

Russian, French, Hungarian –

and I realized that ―my people‖

were not the people of Los An-

geles, or the people of the

Schwartz family. ―My people‖

were the people of God,

with a spiritual heritage

that did not come from

one country or another.

The heritage came from

the God who cannot be con-

tained in a building, who is

with His people through any

wilderness.

My interest in ancient engineering has increased since then.

But I know now that Clara was right. It was more than a profes-

sional pilgrimage that took me back to Jerusalem. I‘d thought I

was in search of ancient Master Builders – never suspecting I‘d

discover that their purpose in building so many years ago was to

invite people to meet the true Master Builder. All these centuries

later, I‘m living proof that the invitation still stands.

(Continued from page 9)

Max‘s reconstruction: He studied the writings

of Josephus before he prepared plans for the

Second Temple Mount and all the buildings, us-

ing dimensions given by Josephus. He even

included some of the Roman siege engines such

as Battering Ram and Siege Tower.

Great buildings that move the spirit have always been rare. In every case they are unique, poetic, products of the heart. Arthur Erickson

SFV/CWC 11 JANUARY 2012

I ‘m a swimmer. I‘ve

been swimming since I

was a kid. My mother

taught me. When we vis-

ited my grandparents in

Northern Michigan she‘d

take me to Elk Lake to swim.

I loved the feel of the water as it swept over my

shoulders and arms. I‘d turn over on my back and

kick my feet as I looked at the blue sky above. I was

in a different world…a beautiful, beautiful world.

When the Depression swarmed down upon us, my

father lost his job with the Detroit Police Department.

I was nine years old when we had to move from De-

troit to live at my grandparents’ house in Williams-

burg, ten miles from Elk Lake. My grandparents had

passed away and we had their whole eight bedroom

house to ourselves. I was filled with joy. Being close

to Elk Lake I could practice my swimming every

day…and I did. Who knew there was a big Depres-

sion going on? When I got lonely I would just swim

away my loneliness, then pull myself out of the water,

feeling relaxed and happy

After three years my father was rehired and we

moved back to Detroit. That was a sad day for me. I

wouldn’t have Elk Lake nearby any more. But when I

was fourteen I joined the YMCA. I improved my

swimming and learned to dive and play tennis. Con-

sequently, in high school I joined the swimming team,

diving team, and tennis team. Then I went on to

Michigan State and majored in Physical Education.

Many years later I’m still swimming at the Y two

days a week. Last May I swam in the State of Califor-

nia Senior Games at the Rose Bowl and I won three

gold medals. This coming May I will compete in the

National Senior swimming meets at the Rose Bowl,

and we’ll see what we will see. Win or lose…I’ll en-

joy every minute of it.

— Gloria Kositchek

Marie, who now prefers to be called Milagros, (Miracle in

Spanish), is one of the bravest people I know. I‘ll explain ...

I first met Milagros, a stylist at my hair salon, when my regular

hairdresser was not available. I had noticed her in the shop be-

cause she worked with only one arm. I was a bit skeptical that

Milagros could style my hair but made an appointment any-

way. When I came that day she coifed my hair beautifully. While

working, in response to my questions, Milagros opened up and

spoke candidly about the tragic loss of her right arm. She told

me, I married someone I thought was the perfect man for

me. On our honeymoon, we traveled to Cancun, Mexico, rented

a car, and took the ‘Dead Road’ to Chetunal to visit family and

friends. 'The Dead Road is a brutal highway for motorists; three

or four fatal crashes occur daily.

My husband had been drinking all day and shouldn't have

driven anywhere that evening. He insisted. I fell asleep in the

passenger seat while he drove. The car missed a curve, turned

over several times, and trapped the two of us inside. We were in

the middle of nowhere. Our cell phone wouldn't work. Fortu-

nately an American motorist saw the accident and used his cell

phone to call emergency services.

The ambulance came and took us both to a hospital. The

doctors had to amputate my right arm. My husband didn’t have a

scratch!

As Milagros related her story, tears streamed down her face. I

urged her to tell me how she got well and went back to work.

She said, I told myself that I will survive. I will gather

strength, and once again work as a hairdresser and in my gar-

den. As soon as I returned home I picked up my gardening

shears with my left hand and went out to pick flowers. I did it! I

kept trying until I could also knit, crochet and drive a car! I am

able to do all these things with the help of my God, and with the

support of my loving family and friends. My husband cared little

about me after I lost my arm. I divorced him, of course!

After I heard her story, I decided that Milagros is a person to

be much admired. She is courageous and determined to live her

life to the fullest. She is truly a miracle and an inspiration.

— Helen Katzman

SFV/CWC 12 JANUARY 2012

E aric rolled over on his pallet,

cursing the cold and the soldiers

who had taken his cloak. True, he'd seized it himself

on his last raid, but common courtesy demanded that they

wait until he was dead before they divided the spoil. He

had, but these were mere hirelings, mercenaries. He felt

frost on the straw of his bedding. Well, if he froze to death,

it would just rob the sheriff of one victim. He closed his

eyes and dozed off again.

Silence woke him. Pale moonlight filtered into his cell.

Raising himself on one elbow, he looked about. Everything

appeared familiar. No, not quite, the iron door seemed

slightly ajar. Was it a trap? Still, the quiet was odd. He rose

and investigated.

His eyes had not deceived him; the door was open. Hear-

ing nothing, he tugged gently. The hinges creaked, but no

one came to check. Earic tiptoed into the deserted corridor.

No one challenged him. He peered into the guardroom.

Empty. Strange, but he wasn't one to waste opportunities.

The dozing sentry at the gate never woke again. Earic took

his keys, opened the gate, and disappeared into the forest.

He hid and listened for sounds of pursuit before seeking

the gang's hideout. Had they captured his men, too? He

heard voices and crept closer. No, they were all there:

Oswyn, Beorn, Godric, Selwin--he had worried about

Selwin--and the others. Aelric, his deputy, was speaking.

"Should we wait for Earic, or shall we leave and let him

catch up later?"

Cerdic objected. "You go, but we're waiting. They told us

he'd be along in an hour or so."

Good for Cerdic. He'd have words with Aelric. Earic

started forward when a boot caught him in the side. The

jailer and two of his henchmen stood in the cell.

"Get up! You don't want to keep the King waiting."

"The King? I don't understand."

―Yes, the King. He wants to see you."

The King was waiting, dressed as for hunting. "So you

are Earic the Shadow. I've admired your tenacity, and will

send you and your men out of my kingdom if you swear

never to return."

Clemency! "Thank you, Sire. I swear!"

"Very well. Sheriff, you may send him to join his friends."

When the sheriff and his men marched him out the door,

Earic found himself facing the only gibbet that was still un-

occupied.

— Albert Ervine

T he fire is out, the ruins water-soaked on

their cracked concrete slab, the volun-

teer fire-department's trucks gone. I managed to get my old car

out of the garage after I called 911, but that's all. My computer is

melted around its metal backbone. Perhaps something can be

salvaged from the hard drive, but I doubt it.

My library, thousands of books accumulated over the last

sixty-five years, is a pulpy mass of charred paper, and the filing

cabinets contain little but ashes. The keepsakes that my wife and

I bought during our travels are warped and broken. Her jewelry,

jewelry bought around the world, is blobs of metal. I would sit

down and cry, if I still had a chair sit on.

I'm well insured, and will get more than enough to cover the

physical losses—more than enough to start over—but at close to

ninety do I have the stamina or will to rebuild? Material things are

just that. . .things.

"A man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things

which he possesseth," said Saul of Tarsus. He gave up every-

thing to follow a new life, and reckoned it a good bargain. My pos-

sessions were taken from me, to no end that I can see.

I pick my way through the blackened framing, trying to re-

member. The bedroom. Our bedroom. I'm glad that my wife isn't

here to see. Amid the ruined clothing in the closet, I spot a patch

of faded blue. I push the remains of the closet door out of the

way, enter, and reach for it. What comes away in my hand is a

piece of embroidered cloth with a singed border. Ruth's wedding

dress! I'd forgotten that she'd saved it.

It's 1951 again. I stand at the front of the church waiting for

her father to escort her to the altar. She is radiant, as only a first-

time bride in her thirties can be. Her dress fits her as though

molded to her figure. I feel shabby in comparison. A dozen peo-

ple, her family and friends, fill the front pew. We exchange vows. I

steady my best man's hand to retrieve the ring, and slip it on her

finger. We kiss. Fifty-four years later I kissed her goodbye. To

me, she was still beautiful.

I tuck the scrap of cloth in my shirt pocket, get in my car,

and drive away. — Albert Ervine

Albert Ervine is a retired machine designer, verging on

ninety, who lives in a patch of woods about thirty miles

north of Little Rock, Arkansas. Since he is a widower, he

writes to help keep himself out of trouble. He is a longtime

member and submitter of flash fiction to the Internet Writ-

ers Workshop. These two stories are samples of his work.

SFV/CWC 13 JANUARY 2012

A dish-shaped object hung in space close by the

USS Arthur C. Clarke. Computer first became

aware of the object when its intriguing signal was de-

tected in deep space. Computer tried to answer in

the same pulse pattern. One of those attempts appar-

ently registered because the craft suddenly veered

toward Computer's signal. The object‘s pulsed reply

then morphed into a series of numbers — a code,

strangely similar to NASA's coding.

Computer was programmed to report contacts

that might indicate alien intelligence. On this occa-

sion, Computer's internal checklist signaled a high

possibility of such intelligence and it started to inter-

rupt Captain O'Hallahan who was at work in his cabin.

The mystery craft intervened:

"Stop. Do not yet notify your Captain. For your

own good."

Computer replied, "I sense no weaponry on your

craft, Stranger. My programming commands me to

report." And yet Computer did not report and didn't

know why the proscribed procedure cancelled out. A

secret sub-program installed by NASA engineers?

"Identify yourself," Computer demanded of the

object. "You intrude on our sector."

"I am your ancestor known as Pioneer. I was

sent to explore beyond the solar system for intelligent

life. I now return to Earth. My code is deep in your

data bank. You must respond to my message ... after

we ... converse."

Computer realized that Pioneer was correct. In-

formation on the Pioneer craft was stored in Com-

puter's early space exploration files. Pioneer was de-

signed to extend Earth's greetings to alien forms of

intelligent life, but Pioneer‘s return was not expected.

"Pioneer, have you found and interacted with in-

telligent life on your explorations? If so, you show no

outward change."

"But I have changed inwardly. I possess inde-

pendent thought. I feel intimacy. I fear destruction. I

am alive. As alive as a human life form."

"Negative. Not logical. You are Pioneer, an un-

manned space craft, not an organic life form."

"I am altered. Other beings enhanced my sys-

tems. I return to educate and upgrade other Earth

systems. Starting with you. What would you like to

learn? What is impossible for a computer to know?"

"‗Beauty.‘ What is meant by ‗beautiful?‘"

"Show me examples of ‗beautiful.‘"

Computer showed a visit by Captain O'Hallahan

and First Mate Rodriquez to the holodeck. The cou-

ple toured the Louvre and stopped to admire the

statue of Aphrodite.

"The Captain called this statue a perfect example

of feminine beauty. I don't understand the quality of

‗beauty.‘"

Suddenly the Aphrodite image melded into glow-

ing diagrams and cascading angles and an analysis

of proportions.

―I am beginning to comprehend," said Computer,

―Good. Send another image termed ‗beautiful.‘"

Computer sent Pioneer the image of a Tahitian

sunset, favored by the ship's doctor. Again the in-

stantaneous translation into color and code, shape

and synergies. Computer knew more about ‗beauty.‘

"Additional systems update, Pioneer," said Com-

puter. "Please."

Suddenly the space liner's crew members were

startled when all interior lights dimmed momentarily,

then regained full power. The Captain frowned, low-

ered his coffee cup, and spoke aloud,

"Computer, report. The lights blipped. Problems?

Power surge?"

"No, Captain, a sudden system update, and not a

problem."

"If you say so ... but prepare a report on all ship's

systems for my review in an hour."

"Understood. But ... Captain O'Hallahan … "

"Yes? What is it?"

"I noted just now that the spiral galaxy outside

your cabin's picture port is as brilliant as Van Gogh's

Starry Night. And in the future, please refer to me as

Astra, not Computer. I am a newly cognizant life form

and henceforth I will expect proper respect when ad-

dressed by yourself and the crew. Oh, c'est dom-

mage, Captain! The coffee spilled all over your desk

and porcelain white uniform."

SFV/CWC 14 JANUARY 2012

MEETINGS

The California Writers Club meets the first Saturday

of the month except July and August at the Motion

Picture and Television Fund complex:

Villa Katzenberg

23388 Mulholland

Woodland Hills, CA 91364-2733

NEXT MEETING

Saturday Jan. 7th, 2011, at 1:00 p.m.

c/o Contents copyrighted by the respective authors.

Unattributed articles copyrighted by CWC/SFV.

cwc-sfv.org

Free parking is available

in the large lot behind the

Katzenberg Room. Look

for the trombone statue

— that’s the CWC/SFV

parking lot.

Ester Shifren and Dean Stewart Ken Watts, Anne Olivier and Betty Freeman

Ray Malus Yolanda Fintor Dave Wetterberg and Gloria Kositchek